


Prague Can Wait

by trickylinguistics



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Domestic Spat, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:32:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickylinguistics/pseuds/trickylinguistics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames and Arthur have a flat together, but they never really see each other anymore.  Eames decides he's tired of it.</p><p>With sex, of course, because that's how I roll.</p><p>[Also, sorry about the title, which sucks.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prague Can Wait

**Author's Note:**

> I had an idea for this in the middle of the night one night, and sat on it for a bit (or slept on it, whatever). I wrote it pretty late at night -- and pretty quickly -- so it's probably not perfect, but nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it. :]

“So, I’m leaving for a job in Prague tomorrow morning,” Arthur says conversationally as Eames gives a languid roll of his hips.

It’s always like this.

One of them will re-unite in their flat with the other, always for a time that’s entirely too short to enjoy.  They depart and rejoin and as pleasant as the inevitable reunion always is, a week, a few days, a few _hours_ , is never enough.

Eames is tired of it.

“But you know, we’re one member short for our team,” Arthur continues, wrapping a loose arm around Eames’ broad neck and slowly arching up to meet him, humming contentedly.

“You’re always one short, love,” Eames tsks.

Arthur bites his lip and says, “I’m just not satisfied with the way things are going.”

“You never are,” Eames says with a little huff of a laugh, because that's his Arthur.  He braces his hand against the bed then and with the other, he hooks Arthur’s leg round his waist.  “C’mon, darling, let’s not talk about work any longer.”

Eames pulls back and drives in – _hard_ – and well, fuck if that doesn’t make Arthur shut up about the topic right away.  Perfectly manicured fingernails scrape over the golden skin of Eames’ back, Arthur gasping out as an entirely new line of dialogue springs forward onto his tongue.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , baby, yeah, fuck me,” Arthur keens, wrapping his other leg round Eames’ body and digging his heels into the flexing muscles of his arse.  His eyes fall shut as Eames’ hips grind into his own, languid movements forgotten, and he groans out, “Harder, _faster_.”

Eames hums and obliges, curving his hands around Arthur’s narrow hips in a strong hold and snapping his own hips as he picks up the pace, changing the angle until Arthur cries out and bucks right off of the bed.

“ _Right there_ ,” he manages to say, his breath sounding choked.

“Right there, darling?” Eames murmurs breathlessly, grunting from the force of his movements.

“ _Fuck_ , yes,” Arthur answers, scraping his nails over his lover’s finely-muscled traps, squeezing his legs in tighter against Eames’ body as he fights to meet each of his demanding thrusts, head spinning in pleasure.

Eames keeps his focus on that sweet spot deep inside of Arthur, alternating with long, smooth motions and short, quick thrusts.  The rhythm has both of their breath hitching out into the air around them, hot as it wafts out against each other’s mouths in their close proximity, and when Eames fits a hand round Arthur’s cock he knows he won’t last for very much longer.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” Eames moans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as he breathes hotly against the corner of Arthur’s mouth.

“ _Uhn_ , fuck, yeah,” Arthur gasps, catching Eames’ lips with his own in a sloppy kiss, all tongue and no finesse that only lasts for a few breathless seconds.

“Let me see you,” Eames grits out.  “Let me see you come all over yourself for me, you’re so beautiful.”

Eames hits home one last time, circling his fist over the domed head of Arthur’s leaking cock, and Arthur is spent, shouting Eames’ name and spilling in long ropes that land all the way up to his collarbone.

“ _Fucking gorgeous_ ,” Eames breathes reverently, raising his own fingers to his lips for a taste.

He only manages another dozen or so erratic thrusts before he comes deep inside of Arthur, the groan of Arthur’s name buried into his lover’s neck as he pumps his release along his inner walls.  It makes both of them shudder, as it always does, and though Eames pulls out, he stays huddled close to Arthur as they fall into a slow kiss, decidedly chaste in contrast to the sex they've just finished having.

Arthur ruins it by pulling away and murmuring, “I have to get cleaned up, and then I have to pack.”

Eames lets out a breath, eyes closed as he feels Arthur’s weight leave their bed.  For a moment, while the taps are running in the washroom, he doesn’t say anything; then, when the water turns off, he hears himself say, “Don’t go.”

At first Eames isn’t even sure he’s the one who said it.  His voice is quiet, unsteady; it scarcely even sounds like him.  But he’s sure it must be, because Arthur walks out of the bathroom clean and in a pair of perfectly-fitted trousers, a slight frown on his face as he fixes Eames with a stare.

“What?”

Eames opens his eyes and turns towards Arthur, towards the edge of the bed, and whispers just as quietly as before, “I said don’t go, Arthur.”

Arthur’s frown deepens, and he climbs back onto the bed.

“It’s a job, Eames,” he says, even as he touches his hand softly to Eames’ chest.  “I have to go.  Please, don’t be like this.”

“Don’t be like _what_?” Eames nearly snaps, bending forwards and dragging on his discarded boxers before standing up.  “Arthur, we never see each other anymore!  You’re never bloody _home_!”

“What, like _you_ are?” Arthur demands, standing as well.  “Look, I’m sorry I have to go so soon, okay?  I am.  You think I like being apart from you any more than you like being apart from me?  Well, I don’t, Eames.  I fucking hate it, all right?  I miss you so much sometimes that I call your voicemail just to hear your voice when we can’t talk.  But Jesus, you have no right to get angry with me.  You’re gone just as often as I am, Eames!  That’s what work fucking _is_!”

“Oh, _for Christ’s_ —“ Eames hisses, breaking off mid-sentence as he turns his back to Arthur and slaps his hands against the opposite wall of the room, shoulders hunched.

“What?” Arthur asks, a dangerous, argumentative edge still to his voice.  And, when he doesn’t get an answer, he snaps even more loudly, “ _What_ , Eames?  What is it?”

Eames inhales sharply through his nose, tension visible in his hands braced against the wall in front of him as he finally answers, “I’m not working anymore, Arthur.”  He turns around and crosses his arms in front of his chest, jaw set.  “I stopped taking jobs because I wanted us to be able to see each other more.”

Arthur’s mouth drops open a little, and he seems unsure of where to look as his gaze drops downward.

“You didn’t tell me,” he murmurs.

“Arthur...” Eames starts, trailing off.  “You’re never here.”

The words hit Arthur like a dead weight when he realises that they’re true; that this is _their_ home and he’s hardly ever in it anymore, and when did that happen?

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes, rubbing an anxious hand over his mouth.  He feels a hand on his arm and looks up to meet Eames’ gaze, which is saddened, and understandably so.

“You know I would wait months just to see you for a day, Arthur,” Eames whispers softly as he trails the tips of his fingers up Arthur’s arm, “but I desperately wish that I don’t have to.  I want you here, with me.  No work, no talking of work.  Just this, us.”

Arthur’s eyes are wide, almost defenceless – like he’s so unused to finding himself in such a situation – and he utters, “I’m so sorry, Eames.”

Eames places both hands on Arthur’s shoulders then, drawing him slowly into a hug.

“Just tell me you won’t go,” he whispers, almost pleading.

Arthur closes his eyes, folding his arms around Eames to feel the familiar warmth of his body in an embrace that he always longs to feel.  Then he breathes out long and slow, nuzzling into Eames’ neck as he pushes away a moment later.

“I have to go, baby,” he says, already heading back into the washroom to tug on the rest of his clothing.

Eames’ heart drops and he stalks after Arthur, saying, “ _What_?  Arthur, you’re not serious.”

“I am,” Arthur says as he quickly finishes doing up the rest of his clothing.

“ _Arthur_ —“

“I have to leave right now if I’m going to find another point man to take my place,” Arthur smiles, leaning in and cupping Eames’ face in both of his hands as he kisses him firmly on the mouth.

Eames feels like punching him in the face and having his kids all at once.  Instead he settles on a hushed _I love you_ while Arthur’s lips are still pressed to his.

“I love you too,” Arthur hums softly as he pulls back, smoothing his hands over Eames’ sides.

Later, when Arthur gets back and tells Eames that things are settled, that he won’t be leaving the next morning and he won’t have to leave again for as long as Eames wants him, it’s the first time they’ve really, truly had the chance to be together in a longer amount of time than what’s been fair to them.

"So, I'm making you pancakes for breakfast tomorrow," Arthur says conversationally.

It’s always like this.

 

THE END.


End file.
